


Water Puppets

by merrilyrowing



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Gen, Historical Accuracy, Work In Progress, the plot's coming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-12 17:50:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrilyrowing/pseuds/merrilyrowing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all, there is only one Vietnam, and South Vietnam (no, no, she refused to say his name), South Vietnam is a memory, swallowed up by history books and forgotten by time.<br/>This is how things were.<br/>And how they should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. May 2013

Sometimes, she thinks that the two Korean brothers have it easy. Sure, they are divided, and Im Hyung (North Korea) is a spoiled child, waving his atomic weapons at the world, but at least Im Young (South Korea) doesn't feel that ghostly brush of someone (something?) that is there and then gone.

Some days, she would return to history books opened to April 1975.

Some mornings the coffee would be brewed and waiting for her, after she returned from one of those...meetings (meetings, meetings). It wasn't the staff, for sure, because the coffee was French (the infernal blond who had declared himself her father for six decades), and she was NOT French.

Only once did she heard the softly whispered call (Sister, sister!), and when she turned around, no one was there.

Well, of course, no one would be there.

After all, there is only one Vietnam, and South Vietnam (no, no, she refused to say his name), South Vietnam is a memory, swallowed up by history books and forgotten by time.

It should stay that way.

Painful things... are best left buried.

But she is human all the same, and sometimes she couldn't help but remember.

Some nights, Vietnam locks the door and curls up in the cotton blanket and dreams.

It's a memory, hidden in the half lucid state of dreaming and waking that she would see two children racing in a rice field. The girl was clearly her, but however was she ran, she could not catch up to the boy, though she could hear his shouted laughter.

-Sister, sister!


	2. 1880

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contrary to popular opinion, Vietnam thinks herself as an entirely separate individual from her ancient roots.

Vietnam, or Liễu Hạnh, as she calls herself, hated sentimentality. Sentimentality had been the final blow to her mother's heart. All the same, she'd save the numerous scrolls written by the dying empire in her final months of lucidness. 

She'd never admitted to it, but she'd read them all. Of course, this was knowledge she'd never had to actually use (no, she was serious, she doubted anyone could ever list all her mother's names), but she liked being in on her mother's secrets anyways. Though she knew her mother had never been sane after China's repetitive invasions (one only needed to look at the names she chose for herself in the various centuries). Plus, it was much, much more interesting to recite all the former names of ancient Vietnam than count to ten when face with idiots (which was a chore she did daily). 

This calming method was especially useful today, seeing as she was stuck in another meeting (one does have to obey one's boss sometimes), and the usual arguments and praises were incredibly nauseating. She'd wished they'd confronted China directly over his obnoxious claims over HER (say it twice), HER islands, but... this was clearly not the day. 

So she settled for a plastered smile, nodded at the right times (it was a practiced art), and mentally recited her mother's names in a well practiced mantra.  
 _Xích Quỷ-Văn Lang-Âu Lạc-Nam Việt-Giao Chỉ-Lĩnh Nam-Giao Chỉ-Giao Châu-Vạn Xuân-Giao Châu-An Nam-Trấn Nam-An Nam-Tĩnh Hải quân-Đại Cồ Việt-Đại Việt- Đại Ngu -Giao Chỉ- Đại Việt-Việt Nam-Đại Nam-_

Đại Nam. She could go on, but this was the name she'd always stopped at. 

Sometimes Vietnam wonders if her mother had lived, she would have taken that name, or settled for the name Vietnam had called herself. 

But, in any case, she would never know, because after Đại Nam, and the subsequent French (or Francis as he calls himself) invasion... her mother's sanity (and what remained thereof, vanished). Her mother was reduced to little more than a colony. Annam, the smirking blond had named her. He'd name the twins found in the aftermath of the invasion Cochinchina and Tonkin. 

She was Tonkin, and had shed the hated name as soon as she could. She chose Liễu as it was a name worth something, it was a legend (Liễu Hạnh), and the graceful willow tree. Liễu was something beautiful. The pompous blond hadn't been able to pronounce it (as expected), and grudgingly called her Liliane. 

Cochinchina, on the other hand... her brother did not seem to mind. But he was France's favorite- possibly due to his unusual curly hair and long lashes (like a girl). He looked more like Francis' goose-stepping soldiers than she did. Francis had called him Charles, and lavished attention on him.

Like a pampered pet, Liễu thought coolly. 

Try as she might, though, she couldn't bring herself to hate Charles.


	3. 1880

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The favoritism wasn't blatant in the beginning, at least. But she could see why France favored Charles over her.

First it was the odd language. She had seen the smiles the man in the tailored suit bestowed upon her brother, had seen sweets slipped into her brother's chubby hand.  
"...un tel chéri." the France had told him, smiling, "Vous avez un tel cheveux bouclés!"

"It is French", her mother told her, and, in one of her fits of wisdom, added, "You must never embrace the tongue of the enemy, my child, for it will lead to a lost of yours."  
But she couldn't help but feel jealous, seeing the brightly colored candies in her brother's palm. Enemy or not, he was a curiosity, and a giver of sweets and odd, colorful toys. She was still a child, and a burning sense of envy was kindled. 

Later, France would bring along his entourage, men and women with brightly colored hair, fair skin and disdainful stares. They all adored her brother- Charles, France had named him now. 

"How adorable!" they crooned (she knew enough French to comprehend compliments).

What she didn't realized, and what Charles understood, that the petting and the fawning only happened when France made his rare appearance. Behind their sun parasols and frilly paper fans, the women's smiles would falter into a scorn of disdain.  
"He's just as brown as any of the others!", whispered the woman who'd pinched his cheeks before.  
"His accent's perfect! If only he had blue eyes- he'll be any pretty French child!" replied her companion.

As for the men, Charles knew well enough to keep away from them. Opium and drugs were distributed freely, and an inebriated man spills more than he would like. 

...Sometimes Charles wishes he could speak to his sister, but she was never there when he looked for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> un tel chéri-such a darling  
> Vous avez un tel cheveux bouclés!- you have such lovely curls!


End file.
